


Light up

by SilverBells



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, F/M, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Build, snapbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBells/pseuds/SilverBells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Harry ever met Niall at university, he would spend his entire life trying to impress this cute, carefree, irish boy who’s so self-assured and effortlessly magnetic with his loud laugh and splotched cheeks, while harry is there with his awkward charm and solitary dimple and his uncoordinated limbs, not to mention his really meticulously chosen band shirts and tight jeans that are MEANT to look thoughtless when he puts them on but really are something he tries very, very hard with, because he’s always wanted to have the inner confidence of a rock star, but Niall just makes him feel like a pining, bumbling fool who’d be content to cuddle all day. - Prompt by cantgetnoworse</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cantgetnoworse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantgetnoworse/gifts).



> Inspired by the promt from the lovely cantgetnoworse, who is my first ever one direction blog on tumblr, so it felt appropriate to gift her something crafted by my sub-par writing skills.  
> It aint beta'd so there might be some mistakes, as my typing skills are still sloppy cause I hurt my fingers recently. I'm literally the clumsiest person. 
> 
> Most of the explicit stuff is in the second chapter/smutty sequel, the first chapter is T.

Harry sighs. 

His head's in the crook of his right elbow, the other arm flopped in front of him on the table. He sighs again, louder this time. 

"Haz, you're pinin'," says the bored voice of his best friend, "It's a little pathetic, mate, I have to be honest with you." 

"'m not pining!" Harry protests, even though he knows very well that he is. Pining, that is. Pining after the ridiculously attractive, bleach-blonde, Irish boy that's sitting on the table of the booth diagonally across from them with a guitar on his lap and a snapback backwards on his head and a smile on his face that could outshite the sun and— yeah. Okay. It’s a little pathetic. 

He can’t even blame himself, though. Niall Horan, he has decided, is by far the cutest, nicest, most talented _coolest_ person in the world. This decision was made about eight months ago, when he’d stepped into the hall of his dorm and bumped into Niall, who was already a little sweaty and out of breath, with beautiful red-blotched cheeks and smiling like life was a game and he was in on the joke. If all of that hadn’t been enough, the raspy, heavily accented “Allrite there, mate?” had made him jump off _that_ cliff basically voluntarily. He’d only been able to nod dumbly, as Niall’d helped him off the floor, before he was dragged off to play footie with the cool kids.  
He’s surrounded by them now; the group of cool, edgy, beautiful people that Harry, with his awkward giraffe limbs and spots could never, ever be a part of, even though he wants to desperately be the one to make Niall bark with laughter like he does now. It’s not Harry though, it’s Louis Tomlinson, Niall’s best friend since the first week of Uni. Harry’s ridiculously envious of him, even though he has to admit the guy’s very funny and he can’t hate someone Niall adores so much on principle. It’s that bad. 

Also, Louis is very straight and has a really pretty girlfriend so it’s not like he’s going to run away with Niall into the sunset like Harry fears someone will. Oh god.

“He still pining?” Liam asks, interrupting Harry’s thoughts, as he puts down three beers on their table and Harry lets his forehead thump on the table, both of his arms now over his head.

Zayn and Liam laugh at him as he mumbles something about needing new friends and hating them, but they know he’d never trade them for anything in the world and he squeaks when Liam gently pinches his side, but smiles at the gentle expresson on his face. He knows what it’s like, Harry supposes, he does tend to pine after girls, but he usually talks to them after a few weeks or so.

“I don’t get why you won’t talk to him,” Zayn wonders, creepily reading Harry’s mind like he always does. He’s pulled out his cigarettes from his pockets and is lighting up a fag, pointedly ignoring Liam’s judging stare of death. 

“Because,” Harry whisper-exclaims, dragging the au, “He’s…” he flails his armd about for a bit, receiving two raised pairs of eyebrows for his trouble, before he points at himself and says, “And I’m, you know, me.”

The last bit comes out a tad bit pathetically and he can feel the hand on his shoulder before it’s actually there. 

“He’s just a bloke, you know,” Liam says, in the super serious way only Liam can say things while keeping a straight face and meaning them, “And you’re both, you know, into blokes. He’d be lucky to have you.”

“He doesn’t even know I exist,” Harry says, sullenly. 

Before Liam can open his mouth to break down that argument like the weak one it is, Zayn groans dramatically and lets his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. “I’m never going to this cafe with you again, ever,” is what he says and then, “Come on, Perrie just texted me she and girls are at that new place, lets go there.”

“But—” Harry tries, but Zayn just looks at him, half amused and half like Harry’s the biggest absurdity he’s ever observed. So he decides to be a good mate and at least make it a bit of a good night out. It’s friday, after all. There’ll be other days to go to Niall’s favourite music cafe. 

In either case, when he looks over to the other table again, Niall isn’t on top of it anymore. It looks empty without him. 

————————————————————————————————————————

Harry is very, incredibly drunk and when Harry gets very, incredibly drunk, he either gets very incredibly hyper and peppy, or he gets very, incredibly slow and clingy. It’s kind of an amplified version of how he usually is, but it’s very inconvenient when the boy he fancies is dancing approximately ten feet away from him and he’s caught between the urge to run over and jump along next to him to the Katy Perry song that’s playing or run over and just rub himself all over the Irish lad.

He’s with his usual crowd. Louis is dancing not far away from him and Harry spots several other people he recognises from being around Niall a lot.

 _How pasetic izzat?_ drunk Harry things to himself, slurring even in his own thoughts. 

He’s really, very, incredibly drunk — he doesn’t even know where he’s left Liam at this point, who is, as always, their designated driver — but not even liquid courage gives him the nerve to just step up to Niall and dance with him. He’s even dressed himself so carefully, trying to somehow impress Niall with his skinny jeans and band shirt sort of rockstar look, but he’s not a very good dancer, is the thing. His legs don’t know where to go and his arms do awkward stuff and he falls over if he doesn’t really watch himself and isn’t that just something he never ever wants Niall to see, like ever. 

It isn’t even like Nialls a superb dancer himself. It’s just that he doesn’t care, he just _moves_ like nobody’s even watching, except everybody’s watching.  
At least Harry thinks so. 

They should, _he_ is definitely watching. Sorta. He tries to be inconspicuous about the watching, so he looses sight of the purple snapback ever so often. The dance floor’s packed with bodies and when a girl with high heels and high hair blocks his sight he doesn't see Niall for the better part of a minute.

When he does catch sight the smaller, muscular body dressed in a loose tank and jeans again, it’s grinding up against some tall, broad bloke with a jaw like a brick and Harry could never compare. 

————————————————————————————————————————

Harry’s very, terribly hungover.

He’s still Harry, though, so he’s in the kitchen making greasy eggs for Zayn, who is going to stumble in any minute now looking the worst Zayn Malik could possibly look — which is still only a little disshelved and the bags underneath his eyes only serving to make him look like one of them sexy vampires instead of a corpse, the wanker — with a hangover much worse than what Harry’s nursing. 

And _he_ was very, incredibly drunk. Zayn’s worse at holding his liquor, though, and he gets like this when Perrie’s out of town.

“Hazza!” 

Harry smiles, turning around with two plates of food. Perfect timing. 

His smile falters a little when it’s not just Zayn that comes tumbling through the door.  
He’s got none other than Louis Tomlinson wrapped around him like some kind of clingy monkey and he’s smiling like an idiot. Harry’s not sure if it’s because of Zayn and their probably-still-drunk-piggy-back-ride or because of what Harry’s made for breakfast, but he smiles back none the less. 

“Oh my god, you weren’t kidding!” Louis exclaims, taking exaggerated sniffs. He giggles as Zayn shushes him, which Harry and his headache thank him for.

“Told you,” Zayn goes on, a litle smug, before he wiggles to get Louis off of him and turns to Harry, “D’ya mind making more, Louis stayed over.”

That much is clear. Louis has sat down at their kitchen table like he comes down every other day and since when are Louis and Zayn suddenly the best of friends? 

“We bonded over both of our girlfriends leavin’ us for their mums,” says Louis, in a Yorkshire accent only slightly different from Zayn’s and very different from Harry’s own stupid posh one. 

“Oh,” says Harry, dumbly, as he puts down the plates, “Yeah sure, you can have mine, I’ll make some more for m’self.”

“Aww,” says Louis, his face dropping into concern, “I don’t want to be stealin’ your food, love! C’mon, we can share.” 

And so they do and Harry learns that not only is Louis incredibly funny and witty, he’s also very smart, even when he’s hungover. Then again, so is Harry, so they might just cancel each other out, but they’ve got each other talking and laughing in no time, while Zayn digs into his breakfast. They have a full fledged conversation about _Shakespeare_ for crying out loud, because Louis is a drama student and Harry’s studying English. 

“You’d be a great Puck,” Harry says, as he cuts up the last bit of sausage and offers it to Louis. He’s always happy to be able to feed someone and Louis is apparently a horrible cook. Niall isn’t much better, he’s told Harry, reminding him of the best friend status this boy has with the person he’s been in love with for months. He’s secretly delighted by the information, though, but pushed it to the back of his mind when Louis launched into his story about the auditions for A Midsummernight’s Dream. 

It’s one of Harry’s favourite plays and it’s easy to be excited for Louis, who is pretty much made for the part of the cheeky, mischievous Robin Goodfellow. 

“Can’t believe I haven’t run into you lads before,” says Louis, when they’ve finished their breakfast and have all chucked back an asperin, “You’re ace. Where have you been hiding?” Because Louis is apparently the kind of person that goes home with random strangers and eats their breakfast while charming the pants off of their roommates. 

Zayn laughs and chucks a leftover piece of egg at him, which Louis impressively catches with his mouth. 

“Seriously, I didn’t think I’d have a remotely nice weekend, but this was great,” he continues, his face smug in the face of Zayn’s annoyed stare, “And this!” he points at their plates and then at Harry, “Was probably the best breakfast I’ve ever had, outside of me mum’s sunday brunch.”

Harry doesn’t even bother pointing out that breakfast and brunch are completely different things, so he just smiles and says thank you. 

“I could get used to nursing a hangover like this, can’t wait to tell Niall about it, he’s going to bloody adore you, mate.” 

Harry freezes, halfway to the sink with the plates in his hands, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t drop them, because _Louis is going to tell Niall about him_. Oh god. 

————————————————————————————————————————

And he does. 

If Harry learns anything in the couple of weeks that follow the monkey incident, it’s that Louis always does what he says, and he _always_ does what he’s dared to — which turns out to be absolutely hilarious when Harry dares him to take a dive in the fountain and Louis agrees, but not without Harry, so he ends up being dragged in alongside him — and that means that Harry’s currently not making hangover breakfasts for just the one, but four boys seated in his kitchen.

It’s his kitchen, he’s allowed to call it that, no matter what Zayn says, he hardly ever does anything in it. 

“Harry, mate, this is amazing!”  
Harry can feel the blush spreading over his cheeks, to the tips of his ears and down his neck and he hopes that at least Louis and Niall will think it’s the heat. 

Zayn and Liam are hopeless cases and they’re already smiling at Harry broadly when he turns around. “Er. Thanks, Niall.”

Niall, too, smiles brightly at him, after he’s swallowed the bite he just took and Harry nearly trips over his own feet when he turns back around to grab his own plate. Louis bumps his hip against Harry’s from where he’s standing by the stove, where the kettle’s on the verge of whistling— he’s the worst cook in the world, but he makes an excellent brew. “Hey, you okay? You’re a little red.”

“‘m fine,” Harry mumbles. He fishes five mugs out of the cupboard, because Louis can’t quite reach the top shelf and watches as Louis carefully pours their tea and puts the mugs on a tray. That’s clever. 

He takes a deep breath, before he follows and of course it’s just his luck that the only chair left is wedged inbetween Niall and Liam.  
There are only four chairs in their kitchen, but Louis hasn’t ever let up on climbing all over Zayn and is perched on the other lad’s lap contently with his steaming mug, as Zayn eats his breakfast around him. The best part is that both Eleanor and Perrie respectively think it’s hilarious. 

Harry sits down and quietly starts cutting up his eggs, happy to see his friends all munching on the food he’s made them and even happier to see Niall basically inhale it.  
He’s talking to Liam about some music thing. They’re both in music classes. Niall’s majoring in musical engineering and Liam’s doing some kind of theoretical minor. 

“I’d love to, mate,” Liam says in response to something Niall’s asked him, a sour expression on his face, “But it’s my sister’s birthday and I promised I’d be home for it.” 

A little frown appears on Niall’s brow and it’s all Harry can do not to reach out and smooth it out. He’s of the very firm opinion that Niall shouldn’t ever frown. Or cry, like that one time he’d burst out crying in the middle of the library. Harry’d wanted to coddle him and hide him away from the cruel world forever, but he’d been flocked by his friends all hugging him and telling him what a dick his ex-boyfriend was. 

“What about you, Haz?” Zayn says, shaking Harry out of his thoughts. 

“Wha-?” 

“Singing, with Niall. I’ve heard you in the shower, mate, you’re good. You’d sound great together.” 

There’s an evil glint in Zayn’s normally so kind brown eyes and Harry frowns at him, before his words fully register with him. 

He turns to Niall, who is looking at him with hopeful blue eyes. “I’ve got a practical presentation for my seminair on friday, but it has to be a duet, so I need someone else. Liam’s away for the weekend, so he can’t do it.”

“Does that mean you’re not coming to opening night?” Louis interrupts, to which Zayn immediately responds with a, “That’s this weekend?” as Liam shakes his head ‘no’. 

“Saturday at eight,” Harry says, before he can stop himself, but both Louis and Niall smile at him. 

“Sorry, mate, promised Perrie I’d take her out on saturday,” Zayn says apologetically. He’s lost the evil glint and instead looks like a kicked puppy forced to pick between its master and his favourite food. 

Louis waves at him dismissively, as he worries at his fringe. “It’s fine, El isn’t even coming to opening night, she’s going with my mum next week,” he says, “As long as you come see me at some point, I won’t be cross with ya.”

“I bought tickets for next week, we could go together?” Liam offers, knowing Zayn’s a little anxious about large groups of people without anybody he knows. 

“Yeah, that’d be great!” Zayn says, relieved and Niall thumps him on the back approvingly. 

Harry’s a little amazed at how quickly all of them have become friends. Going out and staying over at each other’s places and eathing breakfast together and going to each other’s things and performances. 

Speaking of. 

“But, erm.” he says, looking at Niall, who looks extra adorable this morning, even though he’s still sleepy and a little pale and blotchy, or maybe because of that. Harry has to take a second to work up the courage to keep talking. “I’d love to help with your presentation. ‘m not very good, but I can try?” 

Niall beams at him and Harry feels his heart miss a beat and then trying to make up for it by thumping extra hard. “That’s good. That’s great. I just need _someone_ who can hold a note, mate. You have some experience with second voice?”

“Er.” Harry says smartly. 

“That’s when another person sings a few notes above or below the actual melody,” Liam explains in his teacher voice, “We’ve done it a few times, remember.”  
Harry recalls Liam doing that sometimes when there’s a song on the radio both of them know. He’ll start singing something different, but it still sounds good. 

“Is he able to keep first voice?” Niall asks Liam and Harry feels a little dumb, being talked about like that. Niall probably thinks he’s rubbish. 

“Yeah, good enough, if he knows the song,” Liam replies kindly and Niall nods to himself. 

“A song you know, then,” the Irishman says, “A song you know that I can play on guitar, shouldn’t be too hard.”

Harry just shakes his head and smiles. It isn’t going to be for Niall, who obviously doesn’t fancy the pants off Harry like Harry does with him, but it’s definitely going to be hard for him. Singing in the car with Liam is one thing, singing in front of other people, with _Niall_ is a different matter altogether. 

But damn, he’s going to try. 

————————————————————————————————————————

“Hey.”

Niall looks up from where he’s seated on one of the tables in the classroom. That seems to be a thing he does and he looks so casual, in his shirt and jeans and ever-present snapback and so beautiful, with the light from outside reflecting off his hair and his skin and the guitar he’s holding in his lap. 

“Hey!” Niall repeats back at him, as Harry dumps his bag beside the tables Niall’s shoved together and then sort of hovers beside them, until Niall takes pity on him and pats the table next to him. 

Harry awkwardly folds himself up on it, legs crossed underneath him and probably looking like an octopus out of water instead of like he belongs there like Niall does. 

“So, you’re familiar with Elton John, yeah?” 

Harry immeditely feels the block of concrete on his stomach lift and replies enthusiasticaly, “Of course, he’s amazing! His music’s so good and I wish I had half the voice he has and he’s done so much, you know, not just for music, but also for— erm, the cause.” He trails off at the end, when he realises he’s maybe a bit too enthusiastic about Elton John. Harry’s enthusiastic about a lot of things, though. Especially Niall.

Thankfully, the smaller lad just laughs and asks, “You queer, too, then?” 

Harry nods shyly, “Bi, I think. Or pan, I dunno, I just really like people.”

Niall nods, quite seriously. “Cool.” and then explains he wants to do ‘Something about the way you look tonight’, if that’s cool with Harry and of course that’s totally cool with Harry. He’d have learned it by heart even if it wasn’t a song he already knew, if that was what Niall wanted. 

And then they sing and it’s glorious. 

They practise every day for the entire week, though the time they spend actually singing is cut back from the entire lunch hour to about twenty minutes. They spend the rest of it just talking and eating the sandwiches Harry prepares for them every morning. He finds out Niall’s from Mullingar and that he has a brother and he’s actually a brunet. In turn, he tells Niall about his mum and stepdad and his sister and all the stories behind the tattoos he’s aquired over the years. Niall doesn’t have tattoos and he doesn’t want them, but he thinks Harry’s are great and tells him about the time he almost got a ‘made in Ireland’ stamp tattoed on his arse, but the tattoo artist told him his bum was too squishy.  
Harry cackles unattractively at that, but Niall’s laugh booms right along with him, so it’s okay. 

Harry loves every second of it and it doesn’t matter that they don’t practise all that much, because they sound great together. The performance goes swell and once he gets over the first initial nerves, Harry realizes he really loves it. Mingling his voice with Niall, who, as promised, sings second voice to Harry’s first and plays the guitar. He loves that the people in the room are looking at them with smiles on their faces and the applause that follows makes him blush, but it also makes his heart beat faster in his chest, especially when he looks over at Niall, who envelops him in a hug and practically lifts Harry’s skinny, posh frame off the ground, before he mingles with his fellow musicians to break down the performance. 

He watches Niall light up with the praise he’s getting, unresponsive to the shoulder-claps he, himself, receives. He hopes that, whomever it is that Niall ends up with, they make him light up like that.

————————————————————————————————————————

Harry’s long since resigned himself to the fact that sometimes, things go over his head. He’s often the last person to get a joke and the first to forget he made plans with someone. It’s not surprising that, thanks to having his stomach in knots over practising and then _performing_ with Niall the entire week, he belatedly realizes that if Zayn and Perrie aren’t going, Eleanor is going with Louis’ mum and Liam bought tickets for a later show, too, he and Niall are the only ones going to Louis’ opening night. 

Also, the rest of their cool group of friends, apparently aren’t their cool friends after all, just people that naturally flock around Niall’s wide-open energy, so they aren’t coming either. 

Somewhere along the way, Harry also belatedly realized, when one of the aforementioned cool people asked him what they were doing some random weekend, him and the guys have _become_ the cool kids. Which is weird in itself and the other guys don’t even seem to realize it.

He’s always wanted to be a cool kid. Dresses like he’s some self-confident rockstar, but now that he is— a cool kid, not a self-confident rockstar —he realizes he’s mostly in it for the friendship he’s formed with Niall and Louis and, of course, Zayn and Liam. 

You know, he’d prefer it if his relationship with Niall was a bit more than friendship, but he takes what he can get. 

Anyway, it isn’t until Niall asks if he wants to grab something to eat before the showing that he realizes he’s practically going on a date with him. 

He isn’t, of course, and that’s okay, friendship with Niall is a lot better than staring at him from across cafe isles, but he still stresses over what to wear and how to do his hair, until Zayn takes pity on him and does it for him, after he’s tried on band-shirt after band-shirt, but eventually decides on a button-down. 

They meet at a fairly posh looking Nando’s, which is Niall’s favourite restaurant, and pick their thread of conversation right back up from where they’d left it. Niall practically lounges on his side of the booth and steals food off Harry’s plate, ever so used to getting everything he wants, because people can’t say no to him, and Harry lets him. 

“No,” he tells Niall, laughing when the Irish boy faux-pouts at him, “‘m not gonna tell you the story, that ruins it!”

“You know it!” Niall counters, chucking a piece of chicken at Harry, who dodges it. 

“Doesn’t mean you should, it’s better when you’re surprised,” Harry mutters, ducking his head so his fringe hides his face. 

“It’s not fair, that,” says Niall and then there’s a hand on Harry’s head, pushing his curls out of his face. Nialls’s smiling face comes into vision and he can’t help but grin back. “But you’ll explain it if I don’t get it, right?” 

Harry ends up doing just that, though Niall gets most of the story and laughs his ass off at Louis’ antics as Puck, so Harry mostly ends up explaining the politics behind the marriages in the break, after Niall’s made a wild dash to the nearby gasstation to get Louis the flowers he deserves and they’d forgotten. 

He comes back a little sweaty and out of breath and Harry has to phisically stop himself from licking the bead of sweat off his face. He’s pretty sure that would be creepy and not what friends do, so instead he indulges Niall in his newfound interest in Amazones.  
They watch the rest of the show with Niall's thigh pressed against Harry’s and it’s very distracting, especially when it practically vibrates when he laughs loudly at Nick Bottom. He does pay enough attention to know he’s right when he congratulates Louis on his amazing performance. 

“I want to do this for the rest of my life,” Louis says, high on adrenaline, “performin’, with my best friends in the crowd on opening night!” 

They laugh and hug him and he invites them over for drinks after with the cast and crew, but to Harry’s surprise, Niall declines. 

“Nah, man, that should be just you and your actor people, we’ll celebrate later, yeah? Maybe we’ll come watch it again with Liam and Zayn. I can impress them with my new knowledge!”

“Harry's knowledge, you mean,” Louis snorts, before he hugs Niall goodbye and winks at Harry. When he’s disappeared, Niall grabs Harry’s hand and starts tugging him out of the theatre. 

“Whoa, where are we going?” 

“Mine and Louis’ flat,” Niall replies and apparently that’s answer enough, because he doesn’t elaborate and Harry just follows him, trying not to trip over his legs. 

Harry’s been to Niall and Louis’ flat before. It’s cozy, because no matter what Louis says he’s kind of a mother hen, but also manly and sporty, because they’re both footie players and it’s never quite tidy unless Harry’s been by. It’s ridiculous really, but he starts cleaning when he’s nervous. 

He isn’t really nervous now, not after the time they’ve spent together, though there’s the ever present knot in his stomach that he’s learned to ignore, but he _is_ very curious, because this wasn’t part of the plan. 

Niall flicks on the lights as soon as they’ve entered and then turns around to stare at Harry. 

“Wha—” Harry manages, before there are two strong hands fisted in his button-down and he’s pulled down into a kiss. 

A kiss with Niall. Oh god. Holy shit. 

He flouders with his arms for a bit, before they settle on Niall’s face and then they’re kissing. Proper kissing, and it’s wet and a little rough and then there’s Nialls tongue licking against his own and it’s everything. It’s everything he ever wanted and all sorts of things he didn’t even think of. He’d expected Niall’s lips to be soft, pouty as they are, but they’re actually a little rough and it’s wonderful.

Their lips move against each other for what seems like minutes and Harry can’t help but make a tiny, distressed sort of turned on noise when Niall sucks on his tongue like it’s the lollipop he tried not to watch him eat last week. It has Niall pulling away from him and he follows after him, because _no_ , but it’s only so Niall can stare at him again and mutter something along the lines of, “God, you’re so absurdly cute,” before he’s on Harry again. 

Harry instincitively wraps his arms around the irish boy and feels the stocky length of him pressed against his own lanky form and somehow, _somehow_ , it fits. Somehow this self-assured, effortlessly magnetic boy has decided to press himself against a pining, bumbling fool and make it fit. It’s not awkward or weird, like Harry would expect he’d make it, but it’s brilliant and _of course_ it is, because it’s Niall and everything he does is brilliant. 

They barely make it to the bedroom, where Harry accidentally knocks off Niall’s snapback in his hurry to get both of them undressed and Niall maps out all of Harry’s tattoos with his tongue. 

Harry sighs, after. He’s really, very, incredibly in love. 

————————————————————————————————————————

Harry asks him, a few weeks later, when they’re spending lunch together in the music room, why an amazing, popular frat-boy like him would ever settle for someone so awkward as Harry and it’s practically hilarious how far Niall’s mouth falls open. 

“Don’t ever say that about yourself again, do you have any idea how adorable you are?” he tells Harry, while kissing the insecureness right off his face, “And you’re so smart and so pretty with your tattoos and your skinny jeans and you’re a great cook and you’re so nice to everybody and everybody loves you for it and I can’t believe you picked a stupid frat-boy out of all the smart people you could’ve picked.” 

Now it’s Harry’s time to gasp and protest and they eventually decide it doesn’t matter and the actual snogging is a lot more important than the quesetion of why they’re doing it with each oher.

"I love you," he mutters at some point, when their lips are in between touches and Niall positively lights up with it.


	2. the smutty sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later, Harry and Niall are going steady and they're more in love than ever and the sex is fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, I accidentally wrote porn instead of studying for my film exam. 
> 
> Oh well. 
> 
> Basically, porn from here on out. It's literally nothing but an excuse for porn. *shrugs to the heavens*

“Do that again,” Zayn says. His chin is on Louis’ knee, and he’s got a look of complete concentration and a bit of wonder on his face, as he squints at Louis’ thighs.  
Louis is still only dressed in his jersey and footballshorts, so his thighs are exposed and the muscles in his legs bulge a little, as he tenses them, creating a dip in the tan skin that Zayn curiously pokes at, as he sighs more than says, “Bro, your muscles are ridiculous.” 

“So’s his face,” Niall deadpans, but the boys sprawled on the couch either don’t hear him or ignore him, but Niall seems satisfied that Harry’s laughing into his neck from behind. 

“I swear you two act more like a couple than we do,” he continues, a bit more seriously now, but still taking the piss. 

Perrie, who’s sitting on the edge of the couch and has Louis’ head in her lap looks up at that and grins, “I only wish he’d treat me the way he treats Louis.”

Both of the boys immediately start cooing at her for that, Louis’ legs all but forgotten, and before long she’s coddled between them, giggling loudly. 

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Harry announces loudly, as he nudges Niall off his lap gently and takes his hand to tug him to the door. 

“Don’t forget dinner at our place tonight!” Niall hollers over his shoulder, and there are muffled acknowledgements from the entangled knot of limbs on the couch.  
Just before they close the door, there’s a half-moan of, “Shit, Louis, your thighs.” and they half stumble, half run town the stairs, giggling and leaning into each other for support. They’re halfway across campus before they manage to use some of their breath for words instead of laughing.

“Oh my god there’s a threesome happening on my couch,” Harry whines, which only results in another round of helpless giggles. 

“Your old couch, you drama queen,” Niall reminds him, “Or do you feel inspired?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Harry bursts out laughing again. Niall isn’t far behind. Eventually, however, Harry shakes his head ‘no’. 

“Wouldn’t share you with anyone, I couldn’t,” he says and blushes when Niall beams at him and pulls him in for a quick, sweet kiss. 

“You’re so absurdly cute,” his boyfriend tells him lovingly and Harry’s transported back to the first time Niall said that to him, almost a year ago now, when he’d taken him to the flat he and Louis shared back then, before Niall and Harry decided to move in together after the summer holidays. 

(Zayn had, of course, overly graciously accepted a mock-heartbroken Louis as his new roommate.) 

He remembers that night so well, remembers the desperate stumble to Niall’s tiny bedroom, the soft twack of Niall’s snapback hitting the floor and his laugh as Harry fumbled with his jeans, which were — as always — just a little bit too tight to get out of quickly, let alone graciously. 

He remembers Niall’s hands spanning the with of his back and his own spindly fingers tangled in Niall’s bleached hair. The wet-slick sound of their bodies and the warmth between them and inside of him. Their hands accidentally poking at ticklish places and their mouth accidentally sucking at really tender spots. 

Honestly, who doesn’t remember the first time they really made love to another human being? Harry can’t fanthom someone wouldn’t, but then again he makes a point of remembering every kiss and every touch and _especially_ every time Niall’s made love to him. He’s a sap that way. 

He thought he’d been in love, then. He almost laughs when he thinks about it now, because it was nothing compared to the overwhelming affection he feels for his stupid, perfect, Irish boy now. Similarly, the love he feels today will be nothing compared to the love he’ll feel for him tomorrow. It just grows and thickens every day. 

They part way when they enter their shared flat; Harry to the kitchen to prepare the dinner they’ll be sharing with the boys tonight and Niall to the living room to tidy up and get the proper booze out (because Harry always gets the wrong stuff, apparently). That’s okay with him, he loves cooking for his boys. 

Liam arrives about half an hour before they’d agreed to get together, but Harry is prepared and has Liam do the salad for him while he finishes his potato casserole. 

Zayn and Louis arrive about ten minutes after they’d agreed to meet, because ‘this tosser took a nap’ and they all know what happens when anyone but Perrie tries to wake Zayn up and she obviously wasn’t around anymore, because they’d agreed to have a lad’s night. 

In celebration of that, Zayn's brought along some pre-rolled joints for them to smoke, as a substitute for dessert. 

Harry laughs fondly at Niall, who is patting his tummy full of Harry’s casserole, while he inhales half of the first joint in one go. 

“Shit, Nialler, leave some for the rest of us,” Louis chastises. Niall just looks at him with eyes that are already slightly red-rimmed. 

“Fuck if you guys know how to handle this shit,” he says, like the proper Irish fratboy he is, with his snapback askew on his head and his shirt only barely covering his nipples. 

Louis squawks at his long time best friend and they tussle over the joint for a bit, while Liam looks at them with judgemental eyebrows. 

Zayn, meanwhile, casually lights the second joint and takes a drag, before he nudges Liam in a professionally distractive move. Liam relaxes after he’s taken a drag or two and then attempts to pass the fag on to Harry, who hesitates. 

Zayn recognises his hesitation for what it is and takes the joint from Liam instead. He inhales deeply and then leans over to Harry, who opens his mouth for him immediately. 

Coming from another person, the smoke is body-temperature and stings a lot less then when it comes directly from the fag, a sensation Zayn knows Harry hates. There’s nothing romantic or sexual about the way Zayn places his lips over Harry’s and exhales. It’s the means to an end. A pretty great end, if you ask Harry. 

The other boys catch on pretty fast, which means that Harry gets a lot of secondary smoke and he’s happy and soft and giggly in no time, snuggled into Zayn’s side while Louis pulls Liam’s face into grimaces with his fingers, trying to get Niall to snort up his whiskey again. 

At some point during the evening, he ends up lying face-down on Louis’ stomach, while another time he finds himself on Liam’s back, clinging to him like a sleepy koala, but it isn’t until he’s back in Niall’s arms that he truly relaxes. 

Well— until Niall leans over and shotguns him in a way that is really, very much meant to be sexual. He lets Harry suck on his tongue and lips for a while, until he moves them to Harry’s neck and starts placing kisses there, atlering between little, sweet pecks and sharp nips. 

When Harry moans a little too loudly, Louis rises from his position on the floor and parrots Harry’s own words from earlier that afternoon back at him. 

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” he says and Liam bursts out laughing like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in ages. Louis practically swells with pride until Zayn swats him over the head. 

“Let’s just go, asshole,” he says fondly, before he salutes a bleary-eyed Harry and drags his roommate-with-benefits and Liam out of the appartment. 

“Thanks for the casserole!” Liam hollers over his shoulder before the door slams shut, and Harry’s shaking with how much Niall’s laughing. 

“Oh my god, we have the worst friends ever,” he giggles and Harry muffles his own laughter in Niall’s shoulder. 

“Nah, they’re great.”

“You’re great.”

“‘m High.”

“That too.”

After that, Niall goes back to leisurely exploring Harry’s skin with his mouth. The butterfly kisses and bruising suction drive Harry absulutely crazy and within no time, he’s horny all over, but still pleasantly buzzed and it’s the best feeling ever. 

They slowly undress each other while exchanging lazy, blissfull kisses and shotgunning the last of the final joint. 

Harry’s down to nothing but his pants and Niall’s about to put his snapback on the edge of the couch, still in his jeans and tee, when Harry nicks the hat and immediately, giddily, runs away with it. He’s slow, as per usual, but this time, Niall’s pretty sluggish, too. The Irish boy only catches up with him when Harry’s well into the bedroom and waiting for him with the snapback backwards on his head. His hair curls around the edges and he’s so happy, because it’s the exact same snapback Niall wore that night and it always makes him happy, but it makes him especially happy right now. 

Shit, he’s high. 

“Harry,” Niall says and that’s enough, enough to have Harry drop to his knees in front of him to fumble with his jeans. He impatiently tugs them down Niall’s legs and when he’s faced with the bulge in Niall’s pants, he looks up and deliberately licks his lips. 

Niall swears loudly and backs up against the door, while he helps Harry pull down his briefs and Harry wastes no time taking him into his mouth and, as he hollows his cheeks, Niall’s head falls back against the door and he’s steadily breathing out filthy cusses that only spur Harry on more, even though he’s still lazy from the weed. 

The result is him steadily bobbing up and down Niall’s dick while he sporadically sucks on the head and licks at the sensitive skin, Niall’s hands on his cheeks, guiding him and he’s never felt so safe and content in his life as he’s suckling at his lover's length.

“Ugh— shit, Harry, _fuck_ ,” Niall breathes, his chest heaving with how good it is and Harry’s so proud of himself, so proud that he can make this boy come apart so beautifully. Niall’s fingers are worrying at the material of the snapback on Harry’s head and he moans something along the lines of, “Look so good with mah hat, Haz.”

Harry smiles around the cock in his mouth and sucks on it one last time before he comes up for breath and when he does, he’s immediately pulled to his feet and then there’s another appendage shoved into his mouth. He moans as he slides his tongue against Niall’s, the taste of him now on both their lips and it’s glorious. The weed hightens the sensations and it gets even better when Niall eventually guides him back to the bed and he’s got their linnens rubbing against his naked back and the material of his pants around his ankles. 

Niall’s fingers in his ass feel even better, though. 

“Fuuuuck,” he drawls, his normally slow voice somehow even more morbid than usual and he allows Niall to gently spread his thighs further apart and then there’s two of Niall’s digits in him, rubbing and thrusting and they’re lubed and warm and it’s fantastic. He tells Niall all of this and Niall just laughs at him, but he can’t be offended, because it’s so _good_. 

A third finger happens somewhere along the line, but Harry’s too distracted by the line of Niall’s body against him and the feeling of Niall’s skin against his lips and Niall’s tongue against his ever expanding collection of tattoos to really notice. 

He does notice when Niall whispers a questioning “Yeah?” in his ear and he’s nodding frantically. He wants Niall in him stat, but when Niall moves to lay in the cradle of his thighs, he shakes his head just as vehemently. 

Niall pulls back, a confused expression on his face that goes out of focus when Harry flops on his stomach and gets his knees underneath himself, hitches up his hips and arches his back. Niall’s on him in an instant. 

They got tested, a few months after they got together and Harry’s so very, incredibly happy they did, because there’s no pause for a condom, no latex parrier between them, just one long, smooth slide of Niall’s cock and then the feeling of his hips against his buttocks. 

“Shit, Harry,” Niall says in awe, his hands running along Harry’s flanks, smoothing out the skin of his back and kissing at his shoulders, as he starts moving, “Shit, you look so good”. 

Harry realizes he’s still wearing Niall’s snapback, but somehow that makes it even hotter, makes his cock even harder than it already is. 

Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he realises this is one of those moments. One of those moments they’ll talk about later in their lives with soft, amused smiles on their faces, like ‘Remember when I fucked you while you were wearing that snapback?’ and then they’ll grin and remnisce and maybe fuck to get the image out of both their systems. 

The thought, as well as Niall’s repeated, rough thrusts, makes him moan loudly and his elbows nearly give out. His dick is throbbing between his legs. 

“Niall,” he says, has he grinds back against Niall’s hips, “Niall!”

“Yeah,” Niall says, turning Harry’s head so he can place a sloppy kiss against the corner of Harry’s mouth, “Fuck, Haz.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the weed or the position or just _Niall_ , repeatedly dicking into him just so, but at some point, he just looses all inhibition and _screams_ when Niall hits him just right with a thrust against his prostate. 

In a chain-reaction of amazingness (is that even a word? Harry doesn’t even know anymore) Niall completely looses it at that and he looses his rhythym and restraint and it’s just thrust after hard thrust of _yes, yes, yes! _and he's knocking the breath out of Harry with every stroke.__

__“Fuck, ‘m close,” he manages to say and Niall just grunts and pulls at the snapback and reaches around to pull at Harry’s dick and it takes nothing, just a few strokes before he’s crying out again and his orgasm washes through him like fire; curling his toes and straining his muscles._ _

__His arms finally give out and he collapses, his hips held up by Niall’s hands around them, pressing bruises in the sensitive skin Harry knows he’ll love when he sees them in the morning._ _

__He vaguely hears Niall groan behind him, still at it and it’s _still_ good, it’s bliss; hearing Niall enjoy himself, but he’s also grateful when it doesn’t take long before Niall’s hips stutter and he presses himself to Harry’s back. His cock twitches inside Harry and he smiles when Niall comes deep inside of him. _ _

__“Shit, I love you,” Niall says adequately and a little out of breath. Harry just nods, before he nudges his hips to the side and makes them to topple over. Niall laughs and cuddles into him, neither of them caring about cleanup or, you know, _pulling out_ , because they’re young and in love and stupid and stupidly in love with each other. _ _

__“Love you, too,” Harry mumbles, the snapback still, _somehow_ , on his head and Niall’s nose in his neck and his arms around his torso, his knees in the cavities of Harry’s. _ _

__He’s all lit up inside, warm inside and out. It’s bliss._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave me some love in the comments below if you liked it, or over on my [tumblr](http://hazazaz.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (again, I'm always open for fic requests) 
> 
> ((when I'm not studying for exams that determine my future))
> 
> (((or maybe especially when)))
> 
> ((((shh))))

**Author's Note:**

> so basically I'm completely willing to write people's silly headcanons, so if you've got someting you desperately need written, lemme know. (my tumblr is [hazazaz](http://hazazaz.tumblr.com/))


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